


Meat Pies, Boiled Cabbage, Eggs, and Ale

by Regret_Pile



Series: Bowels of Thedas [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Farting, Farting Contests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regret_Pile/pseuds/Regret_Pile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pirate must adapt to landlubber food as surely as an elf must adapt to city food.  Luckily they can keep each other amused with the effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meat Pies, Boiled Cabbage, Eggs, and Ale

Merrill had been invited to stay the night at the Hanged Man. So far, the night was lovely. She'd had her first drink of ale, or rather several drinks of ale, and she'd been fed these lovely oily meat pies. Sundermount didn't have grease. Grease was wonderful. And now she was laying across the brown thighs of a beautiful woman. Did humans know how big and soft they were, Merrill wondered. Probably not. If they did they'd just snuggle all day.  
Unfortunately, as much as grease and beer were wonderful, they did things to Merrill. Her belly was all bubbling and churning. Which was somewhat ordinary, these days, with all the Kirkwall food. She knew all the rest of them were too polite to say anything. She didn't mind. She thought passing wind was delightful--a rude noise, a bad smell, no harm done. She supposed that was another thing they'd say was childlike about her. She hated that. Children didn't want to play with pirate breasts. Or maybe they did? Babies did.

Her stomach gave an angry growl.

"Oh, kitten," said Isabela, "you've not had ale before, have you? This is why all the nobles drink wine at their banquets." She chuckled quietly, as though she didn't want to draw attention to the fact that she found this funny.

"You're not going to want me to go sleep somewhere else, are you?"

Now came a full laugh. "Kitten, don't be absurd. If you can't pass wind around the person you're sleeping on, then you might as well just build a separate room and hide in it every time you have a big meal. To be honest, I'm more than a little full of it myself. Feel."

Merrill slid a hand under Isabela's shirt and pressed her belly. It felt tight, and oh, oh my that was such soft skin.

Isabela smiled. "Cheeky, cheeky. I knew you were a lascivious little thing. But really, out on the seas it's all hardtack and dry meat, with maybe the occasional orange if you don't want your teeth to fall out. Do you know what I find utterly luxurious? Boiled cabbage. It fills my sails, as it were, but I adore the stuff. In a soup with a little fatty pork?" She made a kissing sound. "All of which is to say, I know what it's like to have your dinner bite back. Just let it go, Kitten."

"You may not want me to actually do that."

"Darling, I'll stink you out before you stink me out."

"Well, that sounds like that whole piratey boasting thing you do." As luck would have it, the wind storm was finally far along enough in its journey for Merrill to let some out. She cut a trumpeting fart that stung her own nostrils. She liked that her smells could surprise her. Her farts didn't smell like that at Sundermount. That was the smell of adventure.

"Seven and a half." said Isabela.

"Sorry?"

"Seven and a half. Out of ten. The smell is magnificently foul, but the sound was a bit like a pantomime of a fart."

"Is this a thing humans do?"

"Only me, Kitten."

"Well, I think you're delightful."

"And I think I'd like to hold you."

They lay facing each other. Merrill idly ran a foot up and down Isabela's calf. The pirate was so squashy and cuddly. Her breasts, her thighs, even her belly. Speaking of bellies, this time it was Isabela's belly's turn to moan and groan about all that cabbage she'd fed it.

"Now, Kitten," said Isabela, "Let me show you how it's done." The fart was all bass, and alarmingly long. It smelled, well, cabbagey. Merrill supposed that was to be expected.

"Five and a half." said Merrill.

"Five and a half? You absolute liar!"

"I mean it was long, but the sound was kind of dull, just, you know, bwaaaaa. And the smell's just cabbage."

"Cabbage is wonderful. My fart smelled like the promise of food. That's at least worth six and a half."

"Maybe. Why is everything done with halves?"

"Because it sounds official, Kitten." She paused. "Quiet, I feel another one coming."

This one was bubbly and higher-pitched. Still at least fifteen seconds. The smell was more fermented than the last, and lingered in the air longer.

"Now, that," said Isabela, "was at least an eight"

Merrill agreed.

They lay longer, twirling hair, kissing collarbones, pressing forward in the small ways a person does.  Merrill wondered if breast-touches were allowed.  She hoped so.  Creators, their bellies were both so noisy, and Merrill was sort of glad of it because it seemed like no one wanted to admit they had anything in there.

She felt a good one coming on.  She shook Isabela's arm to get her attention.

"Is there a bear in the room, Kitten?"  Maybe she'd shaken it a bit too hard.

"Just me."

Isabela traced a finger between Merrill's breasts.  "I am _very_ aware of that."  So, breast-touches were allowed.  Or chest-touches.  There were so many things to figure out here.  

And then Merrill let rip with a series of rapid, popping farts, loud and percussive, and truly noxious.

"A solid eight and a half, Kitten," said Isabela.  She sniffed, "Someone's been eating eggs."

"They're such a strange idea for a food," said Merrill, "just like cheese.  You humans just seem to want to try so hard to make things to eat."

"We just like our farts to smell like that."

"Really?"

"Not really.  I don't."

"So why didn't you take off points?"

"Because, Kitten, you're not supposed to like the smell unless it's your own."

"I like yours perfectly well."

"Then I must try harder."

With that, the pirate let out a fart so long Merrill was concerned she might hurt herself.  It stank.

"Was that a ten?  I hate the smell and I think you might want to see Anders at his clinic."

"It was something.  And I would much rather you examine me."

As Merrill began to unlace Isabela's top, her stomach clenched up. She paused, bore down, and pushed out a massively loud, sputtering fart.  The smell was unspeakable, and she felt a wetness between her cheeks.

"That, Kitten, was a ten.  You win.  Care to claim your prize?"

Merrill blushed. "Er, Isabela, I think I may have left a bit of a spot in my underthings just now."

"Well," said the pirate, "I suppose you'll just have to take them off, then."


End file.
